


To you, my beloved.

by daienkaixoxentei



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daienkaixoxentei/pseuds/daienkaixoxentei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To you, Takao.<br/>Two seasons have passed since I last saw you. Rosy blossoms have bloomed on branches that had been covered with ice the last time we had walked underneath their recluse together. Has it really been that long since I last saw you? Fate is all powerful, Takao, and as I have always told you, Fate cannot be taken lightly. Yet, once again, I begin pressing my soul into ink in dubious and rootless faith that you might return to me, as I have consistently done so for the past six months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To you, my beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I'd had written a while ago. I thought I lost this but I stumbled upon it in search of something else, and, well, here we are. Angst, for absolutely no reason, and a rather short one-shot at that. Still, I hope you enjoy. Please review!

The lonely mind is of two varieties; the seeker, and the deprived.

The seeker yearns a change. He wants something _new_. He looks to the sky in search of exoticness and beauty and all things strange and lovely. Whether he finds his treasure or not is another story, but the truth is that being a seeker is a far better misery than being deprived.

The deprived is not fazed by anything. He does not seek. He does not want. He exists as half of himself, as an empty shell, constantly feeling a cold ache in a spot in his heart which used to be warm. He looks to the sky and it is filled with memories and nightmares, haunted by ghosts and demons that would not seem to leave him alone.

Yes, being a seeker is a far better misery than being deprived.

Because while the seeker can find recluse in the discovery of what he needs, the deprived soul has a loneliness that never heals.

Some things that are gone can never truly be retrieved, again.

* * *

_To you, Takao._

_Two seasons have passed since I last saw you. Rosy blossoms have bloomed on branches that had been covered with ice the last time we had walked underneath their recluse together. Has it really been that long since I last saw you? Fate is all powerful, Takao, and as I have always told you, Fate cannot be taken lightly. Yet, once again, I begin pressing my soul into ink in dubious and rootless faith that you might return to me, as I have consistently done so for the past six months._

"Shin-chan."

Midorima cast his partner a look through his periphery. He shivered, cheeks red from the chill, and his lips chattered as he inhaled and exhaled. His hair was not visible under the woolly snowcap he wore - nor did Midorima expect to see it there (of course not, not anymore). The boy was not looking at him, rather at his own shoes as they clicked musically on the sleet of the sidewalk, precisely in time with his own steps.

No further utilization of speech was required for Midorima to understand. He cast his own eyes downward, but allowed the other to entwine their fingers as they walked, knuckles white and skin as tight as they would be of little children clinging onto the chains of their swings as they flew into the sky.

Their silence was deep and meaningful, but not uncomfortable. No, never that. To Midorima Shintarou, Takao Kazunari had always been a strikingly flavored cocktail of emotions, and yet discomfort had always managed to evade this timeless list of feelings.

Midorima sighed, and his breath crystallized into the air as it rose into the sky where it met with the icicles hanging from a tree overhead. The branches drooped sorrowfully, as did the heavy clouds in the atmosphere. It seemed to Midorima as if nature itself was bowing its mighty head in apology that such a terrible thing had to happen to a soul so innocent.

_Cancer has not been at the top of the horoscope for a while, again. Perhaps once or twice within the last two months, and those select days had been the few easier hours to stomach. The poor ranking may be attributed to why I am finding it particularly tough to get through with my usual difficulties..._

The scene at breakfast was quieter than usual as Midorima gazed at the television screen expectantly. Though Takao put up the facade of playing aimlessly with the cereal in his bowl, Midorima had not even touched his toast once. His demeanor was tense, and though Takao cast him a poorly hidden look of apology, he did not feel the need to correct him with a reprimand.

"Today's first place is going to be..." this was followed by a musically cheery jingle, before a bubbly female voice exclaimed, "Scorpio!"

Relief washed over Midorima. He flickered his eyes to his partner, and was privately aghast to see that he looked as forlorn as ever. "Takao," he admonished, "have faith."

The silent cry in the pained, half-hearted smile he gave as a response - so unlike his usual guffaw - however, diminished the retort that rose to his lips, and then all he could think about was how unfair the heavens were to bestow such pain on them both. He remained silent for a moment, listening to the sound of Takao’s spoon clinking against the bowl, and quite suddenly felt an extreme bout of emotion overcome his senses. His skin went numb and though it was a hot day, he had to repress a shudder.

Swallowing down the lump steadily forming in his throat and ignoring the other’s concerned, watchful eyes, he picked up his toast and attempted to take a bite, though his tongue  – or any of his other senses, for that matter – did not manage to taste anything from the food other than a painful sort of bitterness.

_However, I am no longer as naive as I used to be. The stars and the planets are magnificent – majestic, even – but I have long since learned that they prove to be of no real consequence to my life. Shocking, is it not? My accepting of loss, that is. That too, of two things. The first being my aforementioned disbelief in horoscopes and predictions…_

“No.” Midorima’s fists clenched against his sides as he protested, his throat as dry and hoarse as a barren moor. “No. I will not accept it, nanodayo.”

“Shin-chan,” Takao stood by the door, his expression downcast and his eyes teary, “You can’t just go on believing that I’m going to get better when you and I both already know”—

“No, you fool.” He interrupted, lips pressed into a thin line as he spun around and walked over to the other briskly, just to take him in his arms. Takao dissolved into tears against the comfort of his chest, and Midorima relished the sensation of his harried breathing tickling and tracing the planes of his chest. He savored the warmth emanating from Takao’s body, pulling him closer as if in fear that the latter might evaporate if he did not hold on tight.

“Shin-chan, I”—

“No, Takao,” he reiterated, softly this time. “You are going to be fine. You _will_ be.”

_…the other being that you are not going to return to me ever again._

_I admit, Takao, that I had quite foolishly hoped, prayed, even, that I may see a sliver of you at least once more. I am not a temperamental person, and like words engraved by knives onto stone, the wounds that inflict my own self rarely heal of its own accord. Time and company may weather the marks, but neither my physicality nor soul would be able to forget the magic of your touch._

Their kisses were fervent, rushed (but then again, the clock truly was ticking down their time together). Every gasp of breath, every delicious whisper was as ardent as the ocean on a stormy day and yet as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. His hands were on Takao’s cheeks, tracing the smooth skin of his face and cherishing the here and the now; for they were firmly pressed together – at least for the moment, and god be darned if they were to be torn asunder.

At length, they pulled apart, panting heavily for air. Takao’s hazel eyes glittered both grey, green and blue, deepening with every intake of breath. His fingers found purchase on the soft skin of Midorima’s lips; he brushed the skin lightly, and a thousand electric volts traveled down the latter’s spine and back up again, causing him to separate his lips in a thrilled gasp.

Takao smiled widely; a reminiscence of the cheerful boy he used to be.

“I love you, Shin-chan.”

If it had been a year ago, Midorima might have smiled back. As it was, the three words left a biting sting on his heart after the usual bout of warmth. How long before he would never hear those words again? He exhaled deeply, shakily, blinking rapidly to hold back tears that never seemed to find an end.

“I love you, too, Takao.”

_I look back on the days I used to deny my attraction for you, and I feel as if Fate is laughing in my face at my own arrogance. The icy shards of repentance that pierce my heart so aptly are of no comfort to my grievance. I would face the almighty god himself, and walk backwards into the damned fires of hell just for the opportunity to hold you in my arms again, Takao._

_Pathetic, am I not?_

“Please let me in, nanodayo,” he almost begged, “I am a qualified doctor. I _work_ here.”

The nurse standing by the entryway of the emergency room studied the broken expression in his eyes (a sea of shattered glass, almost) behind Midorima’s spectacles and gave him a sympathetic look. She was sorry, he knew, she wanted to help, he knew, but she was powerless against the rules.

Sighing exasperatedly, he walked back to the seats in the waiting area. His fingers trembled like the earth before an earthquake, and the river flooding behind the dam of his eyelids was about to overflow. He clenched his fingers into a fist, but then his arms and body begun to shake. He shut his eyes firmly to hold back the tears, but his anguish traveled its way up his throat and escaped as a tortured sob through his parted lips. He fell into one of the seats and begun to cry, hiding his face behind his hands and wishing he could stop hearing Takao’s soft whispers in the recesses of his mind.

Powerless against the rules.

Damn right he was.

_My motto had always been to strive forward in the direction of my dreams, whether it was against the current presented to me or not. Of late, my philosophy has begun to differ. You were my compass, Takao, and without you I am but a dead salmon, drifting belly-up down the stream of life without any clear sense of where I am being lead to. I am very, very lost, without you, even though my stubborn pride would never admit as such to anybody else – perhaps even myself._

“I am a bit worried about you, Midorima-kun.” Kuroko had said, cerulean eyes sharp and probing, but voice soft and gentle like the hand he had placed consolingly on the crook of his elbow.

“Midorimacchi, don’t hesitate to call if you need _anything,_ okay?” Kise had said, the light in his amber eyes unusually subdued, his grating voice extraordinarily quiet.

“Oi, don’t be an idiot, got that, Midorima? It’ll get better.” Aomine, the utmost voice of reason (in no one’s mind but his own), had said wisely, clapping him hard on the back.

“Nn… want a sweet, Mido-chin? You look awful…” Murasakibara had described a la his childlike bluntness, accented with the highest form of consolation he had had to offer.

“Midorima, the situation will improve. Do not show any signs of weakness.” Akashi’s eyes had been inquisitive and penetrating; even on a normal occasion those eyes had the power to reach into his soul and lay out all his cards before him, but on a day as such they proved to be much too harsh for his soul to bear.

“Much too harsh for his soul to bear” elaborately summed up the hurricane swirling in his heart. His friends’ words had been kind and well-meaning, but the meaning behind them was lost on him entirely.

Much too harsh for his soul to bear.

What little light that had been left in his despondent eyes fell immediately upon his entry to their bedroom after returning from Takao’s funeral. Their bed was messy and unmade; just as they had left it after having lain in it together for the last time. The entire room smelled, looked and felt like him – it screamed his name from the corners and crevices, resounding in his ear before snaking its way into his heart to curl around his chest in a painful, vice-like grip, heightening the overwhelming sensation of loneliness taking over his soul, along with a prickling feeling in his eyes that warned him of imminent tears.

“Takao,” he whispered desperately, shutting his eyes. “Takao.”

But Takao was dead, and Midorima received no reply.

_The bridge we had built together had always been sturdy, even if it had taken a fair amount of time to complete – and even then it had only been because we had both put a considerable amount of effort into it. I had always thought that the decision of construction had been mine to make, and that you had always been ready for me. The irony of the fact that this building I had so meticulously erected in my consciousness had collapsed so easily without you would be comical, had the rubble not fallen onto my head and buried me within._

Midorima paused to reread the last lines of his handwritten letter. The day was young, and all was silent but for the whisper of the leaves as wind flitted through the tree branches, along with his gentle breathing.

Then, he rolled up the paper and leaned down to place it upon the mound of sand by his feet.

“I love you.” He mouthed, ignoring the ache in his heart when he spoke those words (an ache that deepened upon receiving no reply). Finally, with the sound of happy laughter and a cheeky voice resonating about his subconscious, he straightened up and turned his back on Takao’s grave. The grass crunched beneath his feet as he navigated his way through the graves and onto the gravely path that led out of the graveyard.

As usual, tears filled his eyes as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk outside.

_I miss you, you fool, and not a day passes without my hoping that you would return to admonish me for my silliness once more._

_Yet Fate stands high and mighty long after Love falls and crumbles to dust and nothingness – a clear testimony to the unfairness of the universe – and you and I both know that we will not meet again in this world._

_Some things that are gone can never truly be retrieved, again._

_Goodbye, Takao._

_With begrudging love and an affectionate embrace,  
Shin-chan_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again... review, please?


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